


Let's talk about this

by Entomancy



Series: Survival Games [5]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, M/M, Survival Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entomancy/pseuds/Entomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occurs just before the last scene of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/860134">Let's Build, let's play</a>.  Ridge is not accustomed to being shown up, and it raises a few more questions for Xephos about the nature of the Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's talk about this

Once the Game was over, they watched the arena burn. Something was invariably on fire by that point anyway, and while Xephos was fairly sure that Ridge didn't  _need_ the setting to be destroyed in order to to shut it down, he certainly seemed to enjoy it; hanging in the air over his own crumbling creation or – more recently – sat beside Xephos himself, with the bloodlight of unwinding inferno gleaming in his eyes, wreathing them both in highlights of molten gold.

This time it was different. By the time Xephos' awareness came back to him, he was already up on the end-game platform, alone, and he peered down through the glass in confusion. The grey-stone city had gone, and he could see the distant figure hovering below, lit with a strange, lightless brilliance as the last fragments of landscape tore apart around him. Stone writhed like smoke, shattering and twisting back against itself; flames roared and died in winds strong enough to tear up the bucking, shaking ground, and rip great chunks of earth up into the unmaking gale. Everything swept in great tangled rivers of splintering world towards the figure at the centre – and vanished, as if it were all pouring away into some invisible void just outside of him.

Xephos sat back and ran a hand idly through his hair, feeling the sparking prickle of reformed nerves across his scalp. It  _had_ been different, this time, of course. He wasn't entirely sure what Sjin had done or how he'd managed to pull it off, although Xephos couldn't muster up a  lot of surprise that he had tried. It was Sjin, after all. Light-hearted, cheerful, effortlessly creative – and in the next heartbeat the trickster's veil would come down across that grinning face, and pretty much anything could happen. He wasn't  _completely_ unpredictable, but there was a slice of impish malevolence in the man that rivalled Ridge's own.

So... yeah. It had only been a matter of time. Xephos stood up, looking around at what actually remained of the world – pitch darkness below, lightened blue above, split at the horizon by a fine twilight band – as the last few twists of dying firmament crumbled to nothingness beneath him.

Ridge rose back up, swung over the edge of the platform and dropped down. He landed a little harder than the soft-step touch he usually employed, and immediately started pacing. There was tension clear through his stance, his coat billowing and snapping out behind him as if moving to the winds of some hidden storm, and Xephos blinked – slightly wrong-footed, himself – as he saw the aggravated expression on those usually so-controlled features.

“I'm going to kill him,” Ridge growled, and swivelled on one slight heel, completing a stomping circuit of the platform. “Twice. Just to make sure. I'm – ” he cut off, as Xephos stepped carefully into the way, putting himself across the centre of the angry demigod's path.

Ridge stopped, jigging irritably in place. His immaculate composure hadn't returned entirely yet, although Xephos wasn't sure if that was down to the process or just raw annoyance. It was rare enough that anyone actually got one over on him. There was even a faint flush shading under his cheeks; his hair was loose from its idly-effortless control, spilling a few unwinding curls down his forehead, and overall he was just a bit less  _sleek_ than usual.

He was also walking around rather than in his habitual hover.  As Xephos was taller than the befrocked figure – when both were grounded – it meant that Ridge's jaw tilted upward slightly now as he glared at him, his dark eyes sparking dangerously.

“ What -?” he started, but cut off again as Xephos leaned forward, gently cupped one hand against the side of Ridge’s face, and brought his lips onto his own.

That was different too. Not specifically the type of contact – although it was rather chaste by post-Game standards, where things could escalate rapidly in the afterbuzz and tended to result in Xephos making a spectacle of himself. This time though, while the slightly-overwhelming sense of _Ridge_ was still there – that sparking stir of white-gold heat beneath the surface of him – it seemed a little deeper down now, further back from his immediate presence. The warm lips against his own stiffened for a moment, slightly surprised, before relaxing into the kiss. After a few moments, Xephos drew back carefully, and met the less immediately-aggrieved stare, as Ridge arched one smooth brow.

“ And what was that for?”

“ Distraction.” Xephos grinned, then shrugged. “And curiosity. I didn't really get to see you playing a round of mortality.”

The opposite expression twitched, amusement and a faint scowl briefly engaged in a struggle for facial superiority, then he shook his head.

“ I wasn't intending it to  _be_ for long.”

“ And then Sjin dropped you in a sewer.”

“ Yes.” Ridge's lips twisted in distaste and he brushed his long fingers down the crinkled edges of his waistcoat, chasing unseen dirt, as he sent a small glare in Xephos' direction. “Thanks, for that reminder. You know none of this will ever feel clean again?”

“ Oh, come on!” Xephos laughed. “Bloodstains are fine, but a bit of soaking is too far?”

“ You live in a factory attic, and own  _one_ good shirt. This is not your forte,” Ridge replied, sharply, and began to pace again, hands clasped irritably behind his back.

This had really gotten to him, hadn't it? Xephos turned, tracking the striding figure, and tried to think of an appropriate comment.  Concern was rising around the rest of his thoughts.  What  _did_ happen if Ridge got truly angry?

“ Ridge, c'mon. It’s  _Sjin_ _._ Have I told you about the giant talking head of Sipsco? He gets the rug out from under everyone, at some point.”

“ Not me.” The retort was cold, and there was a hard glint in Ridge’s eyes now as he glanced back around.  Xephos shifted awkwardly, old memories stirring under that look.

The Game hadn't always been like this – familiar; resigned, or accepted if not exactly enjoyed – and a brief fragment of long-gone time flickered against his attention. It was empty, drained out as all these recollections were, but even without any emotion attached he remembered the hard-bright sunlight, the feel of thick glass against his scrabbling hands as an arena had resolved around them all for the first time. Displaced, captured, and with the intrusive knowledge weighing down at the back of each mind of what they  _must_ do.

Run, fight,  die ; all under the penetrating attention of the figure hovering above, a demon's smile on his elegant features and strange hunger twisting through the glittering darkness that filled his eyes.

How much had it changed, really? And how much of that was Xephos' own bias?

“ What are we to you, Ridge?” The words slipped free, half-bidden, but he didn't backtrack as the demigod stopped pacing and looked up sharply.

“ I've told you that. I need –“

“ No,” Xephos shook his head and waved a gesture down at the platform, towards the empty world. “Not  this . I get that, well, sort of. The Game, the – sacrifice.” That word was awkward on his tongue, as it ever was – too many other memories, too many old horrors, but not  _here_ – and Xephos hurried past it. “You need that. I mean: why us? Are we just convenient?”

Another word with tricky connotations, of a different kind, but he ignored those too. Ridge was still watching him closely.  To Xephos' surprise, he actually looked uncomfortable. He shrugged, finally, sending new ripples down through the still-flowing coat.

“ You're important.”

“Ridge – “

“ Not to me,” Ridge cut him short, then his expression softened again. “Well, yes to me, but that's not the point. It needs  _life_ , the raw stuff. Right on the edge; when the blood sings in your ears, when each heartbeat might be your last and every breath is snatched from death's own lips.” He stopped again, brushing his hand down his face in what could almost have been an unconscious gesture.

Xephos swallowed, against the sudden tightness in his own throat.

“ So it could be anyone?” He wasn't sure, not exactly, what he was hoping to hear in reply, but Ridge just shook his head.

“ No. It would  _work_ , yeah, but not so well. Life isn't just one thing...” he trailed off, frowning. “I'm not sure there are entirely adequate words for this. But it's...  _better_ , I suppose, if the lives are important; if they hold to fates that balance the world. And you lot just don't know when to  stop , I swear. Most people are perfectly happy with one apocalypse at a time.”

_Fates that balance the world._ Xephos was aware of his own fingernails starting to dig painfully-hard into his palms and he carefully – manually – relaxed them.

“ I'm not – “he started, but then Ridge was in front of him again, capturing his gaze in that inescapable way of his. An edge of amusement glittered in his stare now, but below the lighthearted gleam there was a brief flicker of something else, too fast make out.

“ Afraid it's not just about you this time, Xeph.” Ridge’s eyes slid closed as he spoke and a smile spread across his face; one of the old ones, thick with that strange satisfaction. “But  _all_ of you, all you've done – together? That Game is  extraordinary .”

“ Then let us  _be_ extraordinary.” Xephos brought his hands up onto Ridge's shoulders, fine fabric smooth beneath his fingers as he tightened his grip, and grasped for that conversational thread. There was a faint tingle against his palms, the still-restoring feel of Ridge's inscrutable nature, but Xephos focused on the familiar dark stare, and the less-familiar glimmer of uncertainty still in those eyes.

“ Whatever Sjin has ever done that fits him to your Game, it's because he's  _like that_ . If he knew when to stop, he wouldn't be Sjin, and I'm pretty damn sure we'd all be dead, back out there.” He leaned forward a little further, close enough that he could feel the faint wash of Ridge's slow breath against his face. “You want extraordinary? Well, yes, we can do that, can be your... fuel, or instruments, or whatever. But it's not always going to be  easy , Ridge, even for you.”

The moment held – suddenly heavy with a weird weight that Xephos could almost see the shape of, but did not fully understand; a covenant of things half-said, here in this place and close as a whisper to the sculpted figure before him. There was more to this – of course there was – and he may well never grasp it entirely. But he knew  _them_ , the often-erratic bunch of madcap wanderers and self-exiled castaways, tangled together quite thoroughly by history and periodic mayhem. And he knew Ridge, probably better than he should do.

“ At least we aren’t boring,” he added, quietly. “Even if it does cost you the occasional cravat.”

Ridge looked away, down past Xephos’ bordering arms, with a faint frown knitted onto his brow.

“ _Fuel_ is kind of harsh,” he said at last, as he looked back up.  The frown slid away under an almost conspiratorial twitch of eyebrows and he leaned forward until his lips brushed against Xephos’ ear, lighting a little prickle of electric-contact under his skin.  “As for  _instruments?_   I suppose you do make some quite delightful noises…”

Sudden heat caught strongly under Xephos’ cheeks – and a tension he had only been half-aware of released, snapped apart and fading into a trail of discarded futures around them. He coughed, even as Ridge blew gently against his neck, chasing fresh shivers with the line of air.

“ That – wasn’t quite what I meant,” he managed, releasing his grip to tweak his jacket collar a little more firmly into position, and Ridge chuckled softly as he stood back.

“ Yeah, I know. I just like watching you squirm.”

“ _Christ_  – “ Xephos managed, before the rising laugh took the rest of his sentence and he pressed one palm to his face, mostly over the blush, and shook his head. “Y’know, it really was easier when your innuendos were all about death.”

“ Slightly less fun, though.”

Ridge grinned. This time it was his more usual expression – wide and slightly threatening, in a playful way – and he turned back towards the centre of the platform and twitched his fingers. Glass surged upwards like an inverted thaw, mounding rapidly into a smoothed chair of worked crystal, and Ridge swung himself into it, lounging back as he rubbed at his face and sighed.

“ Alright. Point taken. Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself.”

-


End file.
